


Threnoikos

by Terra



Category: Twilight - Meyer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-01
Updated: 2010-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-05 13:59:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terra/pseuds/Terra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlisle's Hell is not very convincing.  Mortality and immortality in 17th century London.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Threnoikos

"It is appointed for all men to die: we are all as water spit upon the ground." Carlisle's father raises his soot-stained hands to the sky and bears his teeth. "Christians! Rich and poor, high and low, of all sorts—young men may die, old men must die! Even those that are called gods: their mortality proves them to be men themselves." He stomps his feet, points a finger accusingly at the crowd. They cannot help but watch as one by one he puts a name to their damnations.

***

His father has been pale with fever for two weeks, confined to a small wooden bed. Carlisle brings a doctor in to bleed him, but no good—the disease rots his teeth, not his blood. "Father," he says. "Father, I am trying—we'll have another one come to-morrow."

The old man turns and spits, the rough gaggle of his voice sounding almost like a laugh. "What man is he that liveth and shall not see death? God will not forsake me." He takes his son's hand, looks him deep in the eyes. "God will not forsake me. See that you do not forsake Him."

Carlisle spends two hours on his knees, stone-still against the wall of the church. When he next returns to his father's room, no one is there.

***

The streets of London are wet with rain and urine, the pavement stones winking darkly in the lamplight. "Go!" Carlisle cries, loud as he can muster. "Find him! Find the miserable creature, and bring him back to God!" The crowd is eager—thirsty even—but he possesses none of his father's fire. Carlisle's hell is not very convincing.

When he is alone it comes limping from the darkness, shining with something pale, something less than grace. He only has a moment to pray before it rips out his throat.

***

It is pain beyond every imagining—Satan's teeth are pressing against his collarbone and an inferno is sparkling in his veins. He gasps, tries to remember his father—we are all as water spit upon the ground. O God! He can feel a new sun rising within him, a litany buzzing in his skull. O God the father, of heaven: have mercy upon us miserable sinners. O God the father, of heaven: have mercy upon us miserable sinners.

For what man is he that liveth and shall not see death?


End file.
